


Sticky Notes and Stubborn Hearts

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: For Alex, M/M, a birthday present, and cuddles and the matrix, but we forgive him bc hes pretty, enjolras is a dumb dumb, idk what to put here???, sticky notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 17:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is not a forgetful person. </p><p>Everyone who knows him knows this; you can mention something in passing once, and he’ll remember exactly what you said, where you were when you said it, and what the conversation had been about to begin with. </p><p>The thing is, though, is that he just has so much going on in his head all the time, that he can forget to think about what’s going to happen in his future. He remembers everything he’s done, but it’s what he’s going to do escapes him.</p><p>And that why they started the Sticky Note System.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticky Notes and Stubborn Hearts

Enjolras is not a forgetful person. 

Everyone who knows him knows this; you can mention something in passing once, and he’ll remember exactly what you said, where you were when you said it, and what the conversation had been about to begin with. 

The thing is, though, is that he just has so much going on in his head all the time, that he can forget to think about what’s going to happen in his future. He remembers everything he’s done, but it’s what he’s going to do escapes him.

And that why they started the Sticky Note System.

To be fair, it was Combeferre who had come up with it, and Jehan had supplied them with colour-coded sticky notes. Bright orange was Courfeyrac’s, Jehan had called dibs on sky-blue, Bahorel had gotten highlighter green and so on. The placement of the note was important too; if it was anywhere in the kitchen, it was important, if it was by the door, it was something to be talked about or thought about during the day.

Grantaire had missed the meeting when they had created the system. He had gone over to Enjolras’ apartment three days later, seen various reminders all over the usually pristine apartment, and had assumed that everyone had moved in, and were leaving notes for themselves. But then Enjolras had come home, taken off certain notes, and left others, and Grantaire had had to figure out for himself that they had done something important in the group. 

Without him. 

Again.

He had tried not to let it bother him, but the fact that he didn’t have a color, and hadn’t even been there to be a part of the whole thing got under his skin in a strange way. Enjolras looked very bothered by it too, so much so that Grantaire was a little confused as to why. 

“It’s alright, I mean it’s not like I’m always planning things with you or anything. You’re much more invested in the others anyways.” He had said, which had earned him a biting look. 

“I am not, you know that. Each of my friends needs a color.” Enjolras had said, and had made such a big deal about it that Grantaire had been forced to just sit back and let him figure something out. In the end, Grantaire had finished by yanking a handful of thick, deep green paper out of his bag and thrown it onto the coffee table. 

“There, happy?” he asked, and Enjolras had visibly relaxed, and shrugged. 

“Good enough,” he said, and sauntered off to make coffee. 

*****

Despite the mishap, the system works incredibly well. Enjolras is almost never late anymore, and if he is, it’s because something else had to take precedence. Jehan takes to writing his reminders in poems, so Enjolras will have to figure out what he’s supposed to do rather than just have it said, which he gets angry at the boy for, but secretly enjoys. 

Courfeyrac’s notes are the funniest, with awful little caricatures of the people mentioned in them, and Combeferre’s get straight to the point, the no funny-business style so him it hurts.

Grantaire occasionally pops in and leaves a little reminder about something that has very little to do with him but no-one else had written down. The fact that Grantaire would travel all the way across the city to remind Enjolras of something makes the blond boy smile and his heart skitter. Grantaire’s writing is Enjolras’ favorite, with its slanty, sharp edged quality and the way the notes are always written with professional grade white ink, the kind that costs a fortune (Enjolras should know--he got it for Grantaire for his birthday last year). 

Enjolras isn’t sure why, but he like those notes the best.

Quite frankly, he isn’t really sure about anything concerning Grantaire lately, if he’s being honest.

*****

One day, Enjolras has had way too many things to do, and hasn’t even had ten minutes to eat something since that morning, so he’s wound tight and stressed by the time he gets to the Musain. He collects himself, though, and gets up to deliver yet another spellbinding talk. Grantaire butts in more and more as the night goes on, the alcohol loosening his tongue and removing the last of his filter, and it aggravates Enjolras more than usual. 

Suddenly, he snaps. 

“Grantaire, I swear to God if you cut in with more of your inane, drunken bullshit one more time I will throw you out of this room myself, do you understand?” he’s fuming, and the entire cafe has gone silent. Grantaire swallows hard, and gets up slowly. 

Enjolras is already regretting the words, but he keeps a stoic expression as the other man straightens his shirt and pulls on his sweater, smiles graciously, and walks out of the building and into the snow. 

There is a moment of silence, before his friends all start talking at once.

“Enjolras, why would you say that?”

“You know that’s not something we call him out on, you know it.”

“Godammit, someone needs to go after him.”

At this Enjolras’ head snaps up, and within ten seconds, he’s got his coat on and is running out the door.

Thanks to the snow, he can very easily follow Grantaire’s footsteps into the subway, where he finds the other man sitting alone on a bench, slumped dejectedly on the uncomfortable metal seat. He jogs over, and crouches down in front of him.

“Hey, Grantaire? Look, I’m really sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said that, I’m just really stressed and—and you know what, no, there’s no excuse for this, not this time. I’m so sorry,” he says, putting his hands on his friend’s knees. Grantaire just crosses his arms across his chest and curls in on himself even more. Enjolras sighs.

“I’m sorry, okay? And I understand that you’re mad, but please forgive me. I need you around, you know I do.” At this Grantaire uncurls a little. “Who else would remind me that I need to bring Bahorel’s science notes in and give them to him before noon?” 

Grantaire huffs, and Enjolras smiles. “Come on, let’s go back, alright?” 

He pulls Grantaire up and drapes an arm around his shoulders as they walk back, and Grantaire decides he forgives him.

*****

A week later, Enjolras opens his door and walks right into Bahorel. The latter smiles, tells him that he’s left a note above the TV, and lunch on the table.

“Well, I’ve left Grantaire in there, and he’s making lunch, so technically I left you lunch,” he amends, shrugging, and slides by Enjolras to get out the door.

Enjolras is stunned for a moment, but calls out a “Thanks!” after his friend as he walks away. He then turns to watch Grantaire finish what he’s doing and put away what he was using. He watches him spin gracefully, the dancer in him showing itself, humming a tune that Enjolras vaguely recognizes.

“I know you’re watching me, you creep,” Grantaire breaks the silence with a smile, sliding a plate over to the other side of the island in the middle of the kitchen. “Now come, sit. Food. Eat.” 

Enjolras obliges, kicking off his boots, shutting the door and making his way over. They eat in relative silence, Grantaire still humming, taking their plates and putting them in the dishwasher when they’re done. 

“Good?” he asks, and Enjolras nods distractedly, traitorous mind conjuring up images of just kissing Grantaire right there, and—no, he can’t he knows that. Grantaire is off limits, because he knows that he would be so bad for Grantaire.

“Hey, you listening?” the man in question waves a hand in front of Enjolras’ face, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a lazy smile.

“No, sorry. Got distracted.” Enjolras answers, smiling back, and Grantaire’s eyes shine the way they always do when Enjolras smiles at him.

“It’s alright, man, don’t worry about it,” Grantaire says, pushing himself away from the counter and heading to the door. 

“Hey, no, don’t leave,” Enjolras reaches out for him, getting off the chair, and Grantaire stops. “I mean, unless you have to. I was just gonna sit around and watch a movie or something.”

Grantaire walks back over slowly, a tentative smile spreading across his face as he nears the other man. 

“Really? Can I pick what we watch? ‘Cause I need to watch this movie for my ‘Hollywood Physics’ class,” he says as he reaches Enjolras. The blond man nods, swallowing hard in response to their close proximity, and he could just raise himself on his tip-toes and kiss him right now, but instead he steps back and goes over to the couch.

“Sure, yeah, pick whatever,” he says, feigning indifference to cover up the fact that his heart is beating a million miles a minute. Grantaire joins him, still smiling slightly as he goes through Netflix, looking for what he wants. When he finds the movie he’s searching for (its The Matrix. Enjolras hates The Matrix.), and starts it playing, Grantaire begins to fidget, trying to get comfortable. He finally ends up with his head resting on Enjolras’ leg, with Enjolras’ long fingers threaded through the wild curls. 

“Is this good?” he asks, grey-blue eyes shining up at him. Enjolras just nods and gives him a smile, making the other man grin back and settle in again to watch the movie. 

They watch in silence, Grantaire twitching sometimes when someone does something like jump off a building or get shot at, and Enjolras finds it incredibly endearing. When the movie’s done and the credits are rolling, Grantaire turns to gaze up at Enjolras. 

“Good movie?” he asks and Enjolras shrugs. 

“I’m not really a fan, but I suppose.” He says, and Grantaire sits up, dislodging Enjolras’ hand from his hair and shakes his head. 

“You’re a weird one, alright. Everyone likes The Matrix,” He says, stretches, and goes to the door, pulling on his boots. “This was fun, we should do it again.” 

Enjolras just nods, trying to think about anything other than the fact that he wants to stop him from leaving. He wants to watch every terrible movie he can think of with Grantaire, and keep him in his house, lying on the couch together until they both fall asleep.

Instead he swallows the thought and waves as the other man leaves. When he’s gone, Enjolras sits still for a moment, before he lets himself fall over and curl up in Grantaire’s residual body heat.

*****

After that, things are slightly different between them. 

Grantaire still comments on everything he can during meetings, but the comments get more and more educated during the course of the weeks. What he says begins to help Enjolras rather than hinder him, which he appreciates to no end. He shows up more and more at Enjolras’ apartment, after kickboxing or fencing or whatever else he fills his time with, to leave a reminder or make food, and ends up staying almost every time. They watch movies or Grantaire shows him music or they just sit and talk for hours.  
Courfeyrac notices (of course he does), and brings it up to Enjolras in class one day.

“Hey, so you and Grantaire,” he says casually, not looking up from his note taking. “Is that a thing?”

Enjolras’ whole body tenses up and he jerks the hand holding his pen, making a long mark from the bottom left-hand corner of his page to the top right-hand corner.

“What?” he hisses back at his friend, and casting a furtive glance around to see if anyone else might have heard. 

“Well he almost lives at your place, you two get into educated debates more often, rather than just fights, and you’re always referencing other conversations you’ve had, so I assume that that’s a thing, at the very least.” He looks up at his best friend, who has gone completely white. “Plus you do that little sheepish half smile thing then duck and shake your head whenever he walks into the cafe or speaks up.”

Enjolras feels the blood rush to his cheeks and he scowls. “I don’t do that,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Hey, it’s okay if you do have feelings for him, I mean obviously,” Courfeyrac assures him quickly, trying to hide a smile. 

They’re silent for a minute, both men going back to their note taking, before Courfeyrac speaks again.

“You should tell him, you know.”

Enjolras clenches his fist and grits his teeth. “I can’t, Courf.” He says quietly, sounding more sad than angry. “I’d ruin him.”

Courfeyrac is shocked. He blinks a few times, and shakes his head at his best friend. “I don’t know, man. You should at least give him a chance. He’s stronger than you think.”

Enjolras closes his eyes, sighs, and relaxes. “Maybe, Courf. Maybe.”

*****

One day, Enjolras opens the door and freezes. Deep green paper is covering every surface in the apartment’ living room and kitchen, and Enjolras doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. 

So he just stands there, frozen, for what feels like ages, not sure what to do. At long last, he closes the front door, kicks off his boots and stomps into the house.

“Grantaire I swear to God,” he grumbles, throwing down his stuff on his way to the kitchen. He turns on the coffee machine and grabs a paper that’s taped to the island.

“Despite it all, I still believe that the impact Louis XIV had on the economic state of France did help push the revolutionaries towards revolution.”

Enjolras furrows his brow. It’s a snippet from a conversation they had months ago, and it automatically reminds him of that whole day. He and Grantaire had conversed late into the night, but when Grantaire had left, he had forgotten his sweater, and Enjolras had chased after him in the light snow to return it to him.

He pours his coffee and reads another paper. “The emergence of the French Bourgeoisie only served to set back the country and its people.” It’s another part of their conversation from another day, and Enjolras smiles as he recalls what they did that day. They had gone to a museum during the day, then to a little pub for dinner and a small concert by a band that Grantaire knew the drummer from. 

He works his way around the room all during the afternoon, reading papers that bring back good memory after good memory, drinking coffee and listening to some band that Grantaire introduced him to.

Once he’s finally done and there’s an enormous stack of paper on his coffee table, he makes himself dinner, grabs his bag and brings them to his bedroom to eat and study there. When he gets there, the first thing he sees is more paper, and he sighs.  
“At least there’s less of it,” he mumbles as he collects each one and settles in on the bed with his laptop, food and the papers.

“I don’t see how you could think like that. It’s obvious what I’ve been trying to say.” Enjolras winces. Grantaire had slid in a snide comment after a speech Enjolras had just finished, and Enjolras had asked him to repeat it. Grantaire had refused, and they had gotten into an argument.

He studies, reading the papers and eating during little breaks, late into the night. The rest of the papers are the same, bringing back memories of arguments and rough spots in their friendship, until the last one. 

“You’re not bad for me. I promise.”

He’s up half a second later, barreling towards the door, pulling his boots on and grabbing his jacket as he runs out of his apartment. 

He runs the whole way to Grantaire’s house in the rain, all twenty six blocks, until he’s jamming his key in the door to the building and throwing himself up the stairs until he reaches the sixth floor. He sprints down the hallway and skids to a halt in front of Grantaire’s door, knocking on it quickly.

He waits for a few seconds, hands shaking slightly, and then Grantaire is opening the door, rubbing his eyes sleepily. 

“Wha...?” he mumbles, but Enjolras is pushing past him, spraying him with water. “Enjolras, what’s wrong?” 

“I saw what you left me,” he begins, but he doesn’t really know what he’s saying or how he’s supposed to say it. “And I... you... you said...”

Grantaire is standing completely still, with a hopeful half-smile on his face. He nods encouragingly when Enjolras pauses, linking his hands in front of him to stop them from trembling.

“Grantaire, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I never noticed, I mean how did you even stand me for so long, I can’t even begin to understand how frustrating I must have been to you and I just—” 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says firmly, and Enjolras stops talking. “It’s alright, I promise.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath. 

“You love me.” He says, and the other man’s face lights up as he nods. “And I’m in love with you too, Grantaire. I have been for months.” 

Grantaire’s face nearly splits in half with his giant smile, and he steps forward. “Can I...” he asks, reaching out towards Enjolras’ face, and Enjolras leans into the other man’s palm.

Grantaire pulls him closer, not even seeming to care that Enjolras is soaked through as he presses their bodies together.

“Grantaire...” Enjolras murmurs. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

Grantaire shakes his head and kisses him, softly but firmly. He pulls back, but Enjolras follows him, chasing the kiss, and kisses Grantaire again.

“I’m here,” Grantaire says into the kiss. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Me neither.” Enjolras responds, and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> For my darling Henry (transpoetboy.tumblr.com) for his birthday cause he's perfect ok.


End file.
